The Italian Girl

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Roberto, would you prefer me to leave? Perhaps you want to be alone.’

  ‘No. Please . . . please stay. You knew her, Rosanna, you understand.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  Roberto nodded. ‘There’s some brandy in the cabinet over there.’

  Rosanna found the bottle. She poured a large measure and handed it to him.

  ‘Thank you.’ He swallowed it in one go.

  ‘Do you want me to ring reception and see if they can arrange for you to fly to Naples as soon as possible?’

  Roberto looked at her and his eyes filled with tears once more. ‘No, Rosanna. I can’t go to Naples. I’ve been so bad, so selfish, that now I cannot even attend my own mamma’s funeral.’ Roberto’s shoulders heaved.

  ‘Roberto, everyone will understand if you have to cancel a performance. Your mother is dead and you have to return home.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I cannot go and that is the end of it!’

  ‘Come, Roberto, why don’t you sit down on the sofa?’ she said gently.

  He allowed her to help him up from the floor and guide him to the sofa, where he sat down heavily. Rosanna settled next to him, reaching out her hand to clasp his as he stared into space.

  ‘You know, I think I’ve loved only one person in the whole of my life: my mamma. And I’ve let her down, as I let everyone down. I’m such a shit that now I cannot even say goodbye to her.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t think you’d let her down. You’re one of the most famous tenors in the world. I know how proud she was of you. She talked of nothing else whenever she visited our café,’ Rosanna comforted him, understanding he was hysterical, overcome with shock. Nothing he was saying was making sense.

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t make time for her when I became famous. I’ve seen her twice in the past six years, and that was only when she made the journey to Milan to see me.’ He turned to look at her mournfully. ‘You were right when you said I was completely selfish. I am a bastard, Rosanna. I hate myself.’ Roberto put his head in his hands and began to cry again as Rosanna sat silently next to him, understanding there was nothing she could say that would help. Eventually, he stopped sobbing and wiped his eyes. ‘I’ve never cried like this before. I feel so guilty.’

  ‘It’s natural to feel guilty, Roberto. When my mamma died, I felt terrible that I’d ever thought bad things about her. I’m sure Maria understood that you were busy. Mothers understand and forgive better than anyone, especially when it comes to their children.’

  ‘You think she’d forgive her son for not being at her funeral?’ he asked her quietly.

  ‘I’m sure if there’s a good reason she would, yes.’

  Roberto sighed and blew his nose hard on the handkerchief. ‘I’m so sorry for ruining the end of your evening. You were a triumph tonight, Rosanna. You should be celebrating, not sitting here comforting a grieving old man.’

  ‘Now you are being self-indulgent,’ she chided him gently.

  ‘Middle-aged then. Why did you come to see me?’ he asked suddenly. ‘It’s very late.’

  ‘Because I wanted to say sorry.’

  ‘No, it is I who should apologise. I’m a shit. It is true.’

  Rosanna took his hand once more. ‘And I wanted to say thank you for tonight. Without you there, I couldn’t have done it.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly.

  ‘Then even though my mamma is dead, at least I can tell myself that I did something tonight – for once – that was not selfish.’

  ‘You did. And I will never forget it. Thank you.’ Rosanna kissed him on his cheek. ‘Now, I think you should try to get some sleep.’

  Roberto looked at her as she moved to get up. ‘Rosanna, please, I don’t think I could bear to be alone. Would you stay with me?’

  ‘Roberto, I . . .’

  ‘No, Rosanna, I’m not asking what you think. You and I go back many years. I would just like you to be here, that’s all. Nothing else. I swear.’

  ‘Okay,’ she agreed reluctantly.

  ‘Come and sit next to me.’ Roberto held his arms out towards her.

  She sat back down and folded herself into them, and was amazed by how natural it felt.

  ‘It must be fate that sent you up here tonight.’ He kissed the top of her head tenderly. ‘You know, I still remember so clearly hearing you for the first time. I watched Mamma weeping as you sang. I knew then that you would become a big star.’

  ‘Did you?’ Rosanna was glad to be able to help him think of happier times.

  ‘Yes. Your voice had such clarity, such emotion.’

  ‘I remember you singing too. I wrote in my diary that night that I would marry you when I was older.’ She smiled at the memory.

  ‘And would you? Now that you know what I am really like?’ he said harshly.

  There was a pause before Rosanna answered. ‘I don’t think you’re made for marriage, Roberto.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be a good husband?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ he agreed finally. ‘Tonight when I heard the news of my mother’s death, I saw myself for what I am. I don’t like it. So, I must change. Maybe I need the right woman to help me.’ Roberto looked down at the girl in his arms, so sweet, so pure, so untainted by life’s disappointments. ‘Rosanna, I have something to tell you.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Do you remember I told you that I have never been in love?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was lying to you. I am in love.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘You.’

  Rosanna sat up and looked him squarely in the face. ‘I will not sleep with you, Roberto. You can’t use me just to blot out the pain you’re feeling.’

  He chuckled despite himself.

  ‘Oh principessa, at least you have made me smile. Of course I wish to make love to you, because you are so very beautiful. But it’s something more than that. It’s a very strange experience for a man who has not had these feelings before. Truthfully, I want to please you, I want your happiness, I care what you think of me. I was so very shocked when you slapped me, not from anger, but because I couldn’t bear to think of you hating me, that your opinion of me was so low. I’ve tried my best to mend my ways in the last few days. And after tonight, I will try even harder. Tomorrow I must go to Mass, light a candle for Mamma and have confession. Then I will start afresh. I will become a better person. Rosanna,’ he entreated her, ‘please say you’ll give the new Roberto a chance.’

  Rosanna studied him watchfully, but remained silent.

  ‘You don’t believe I love you, do you?’ he said, slumping back on the sofa.

  ‘I believe that you’re simply overcome with emotion this evening.’

  ‘Do you . . . feel anything for me?’

  ‘I have nothing to compare my feelings with,’ she answered cautiously.

  ‘So you do admit you feel something?’ Roberto encouraged.

  ‘I know of your reputation, so I haven’t dared to think how I feel.’

  ‘Rosanna, I’m telling you the truth. I’m in love with you. I know it. Here.’ He touched his chest. ‘It’s terrible! It hurts when you are not with me. I long to see you, I dream about you at night, I—’

  ‘I’m going to leave now, Roberto. It’s very late and we’re both exhausted.’ Rosanna stood up. ‘And you must have some time to come to terms with the loss you’ve suffered tonight,’ she added gently.

  ‘Please, Rosanna, stay with me,’ he begged her.

  ‘No.’ She kissed him lightly on his forehead. ‘We’ll talk in the morning. Goodnight, Roberto,’ she whispered as she left the room.

  Roberto stayed where he was. ‘I love her,’ he practised. ‘I love her,’ he said louder, enjoying the sound of his words and the relief he felt as he said them.

  He knew it was wrong to suddenly feel
so euphoric when his poor mamma lay dead hundreds of miles away, but he couldn’t help it. It was a wonderful, frightening feeling. He would change, he could change. Rosanna made him a better person. Tonight was a catharsis. He knelt on the floor and asked his mamma to forgive him.

  Eventually, Roberto made his way slowly towards the bedroom.

  Perhaps, he thought, on the night his mother had died, he’d been born again.

  The telephone woke Rosanna from a heavy sleep.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Chris here, Rosanna. Have you seen the papers?’

  ‘No. I’m still asleep . . . I mean, in bed.’

  ‘Well, I suggest you call down to reception and ask them to bring you copies of The Times, the Telegraph and the Guardian. Apart from some great photographs, there are also normally sober-suited reviewers waxing lyrical on your performance last night. I’ve already had calls from the BBC and a couple of Sunday papers who want to interview you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Rosanna.

  ‘You don’t sound too pleased. Maybe you don’t understand the importance of reviews like these. They’re calling you the new Callas. You’re a sensation, honey!’

  ‘I’m glad, Chris, really, but . . . did you hear about Roberto’s mother?’

  ‘Yes. It’s awful news for him, but life goes on, I’m afraid. Would you call me back when you’re properly awake and let me know when you could see these journalists? They’re really keen. I’ll be at the apartment for the next half-hour. Congratulations, Rosanna. Bye for now.’

  Rosanna fell back onto her pillows with a sigh. She felt completely drained and wondered how Roberto was feeling. Last night he’d said he was in love for the first time in his life, in love with her . . .

  No. Rosanna stopped herself. He’d been distraught over the death of his mother, not thinking straight. He’d probably apologise today for being overemotional and their relationship would continue as it had before.

  So she picked up the receiver and asked reception to send up the newspapers, then she called Chris back and arranged interviews for the afternoon.

  An hour later, she was sitting eating breakfast when there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called.

  ‘Roberto.’

  Rosanna stood up and went to open the door.

  ‘Cara!’ He took her gently by the shoulders and kissed her tenderly on both cheeks.

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She closed the door and he followed her over to the breakfast table. He looked tired and pensive, but oddly at peace considering the events of last night. ‘I have, as I said I would, attended Mass this morning. I’ve confessed my sins and prayed for forgiveness. I feel cleansed. And what is more, I’m determined to prove to Mamma in heaven that I can be a better person.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, Roberto.’

  Rosanna watched as he determinedly blinked back tears, then picked up a newspaper that was lying on the table.

  ‘I’ve read the reviews. I think you’ve arrived in London, little one. Congratulations,’ he said with a warm smile.

  ‘They’re good for you too,’ she said generously.

  ‘Yes, yes.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘They’re all the same. “Roberto Rossini, as always, brings great personality and his remarkable voice to the role of Alfredo.” I am old news, cara. You’re what they’re interested in now. May I give you a little advice?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Enjoy this moment. Enjoy every second of it. The first time these things happen it’s miraculous, wonderful. And even though you may perform again at Covent Garden, and your reviews may be even more ecstatic, you will have had them before, so it won’t give you quite the same pleasure as today.’ He studied her face carefully. ‘You are happy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am. I mean, I’ve dreamt of this moment many times before. Now it’s here, I almost feel guilty,’ she sighed. ‘It’s happened so easily for me, when so many others never receive the acclaim they deserve.’

  ‘Rosanna, there’ll be thousands who will read the reviews of your performance, see the photographs of the beautiful young opera star and wish they were you. But they don’t see the price you must pay – the years of hard work, the isolation, the jealousy, the pressure of living in the public eye. It’s a lot to cope with, especially for one as young as yourself.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to be sad about, yet I feel so low today.’ Rosanna swallowed hard to quell the sudden lump that had risen in her throat.

  ‘Little one, last night you opened triumphantly at Covent Garden in a role you have never before performed. Today it’s over and the adrenaline has left you. No wonder you feel emotional. You’re completely drained. Come here. It’s my turn to comfort you.’ Roberto patted the space on the sofa beside him.

  Rosanna stood up, walked around the table and sat down next to him.

  ‘You understand,’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course I do. And I’m here to take care of you.’ He leant towards her and pushed a stray strand of hair back from her face. ‘Everything I said to you last night is true. And yes, it happened on a night of high emotion, but I know I love you, Rosanna Menici. I don’t know why or how, but it is true. Do you believe me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully.

  ‘Well, if you’ll allow me, I’m going to try to convince you. But you must tell me one thing. Do I have a chance?’

  She studied his anxious expression and shrugged. ‘I haven’t liked you much recently, but I know in my heart that I’ve always loved you, Roberto.’

  ‘Then I will kiss you.’

  He tipped her chin up to his, pausing just before their lips met.

  ‘You know this will change both of our lives. There’s no going back after this, Rosanna.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back.’ Then she shut her eyes and surrendered completely as he kissed her.

  The Metropolitan Opera House, New York

  So, Nico, that was how Roberto and I began our love affair. When I told him I hadn’t always liked him, I was being truthful. I couldn’t condone the way he behaved towards others with no regard for their feelings. I loved him, had always loved him. I wasn’t so stupid to think he wouldn’t cause me pain in the future, but I also knew the pain would be greater without him.

  From that first kiss, we knew we’d sealed our fate, that it was our destiny to be together whatever the cost. I can’t tell you how beautiful those days in London were, both of us discovering together for the first time what it was to be in love.

  It has been said that our pairing in La Traviata that August was one of the greatest ever. Both of us sang with the asset of real passion and I believe this took each of us to new heights. There is a copy of the recording we made for Deutsche Grammophon somewhere at home. I’m so sad to think you can never truly hear it.

  Of course we were so wrapped up in each other, we paid little heed to what others would think. And, to be honest, at the time I don’t think either of us cared. Roberto knew the interest our relationship would create in the media and warned me that I must be prepared to deal with it. In retrospect, the fact that neither of us was given the chance to explain our love to those who mattered before the whole world knew of it was to cause much pain.

  And, of course, there were still many things about Roberto that I didn’t yet know . . .

  22

  Rosanna awoke in Roberto’s arms a week after their first kiss. She carefully moved his restraining arm from around her waist, then climbed out of bed, put on her robe and tiptoed into the sitting room. She drew the curtains, unlocked the French windows and opened them wide. Although it was early morning, the sun was already warm on her face and the clear blue sky boded well for the rest of the day. The noise of the Embankment and the River Thames beyond it rose up from beneath her. People were going about their everyday business, wrapped up in their own lives. She wanted to shout down, to tell them what had
happened to her: that suddenly her life had become an exhilarating roller coaster of happiness.

  Rosanna turned inside and wandered through to the bathroom. She studied her face in the mirror. Her features looked exactly the same, but it was as if she’d been illuminated from within. Even though she was exhausted from last night’s performance, her eyes sparkled and her hair shone.

  She was in love, in love with Roberto Rossini, and he was in love with her.

  They’d spent the past week barely leaving each other’s side. Although they’d shared a bed, for the first two days Roberto had refused to make love to her, concerned she might presume that was all he wanted.

  Eventually, it had been Rosanna who had begged him to make love to her. Yesterday, for the first time, they’d actually left their suite and enjoyed a leisurely lunch at Le Caprice.

  Last night, Rosanna felt sure she had sung Violetta better than ever, her inner feelings mirroring the words she sang. Their performance had earned them both an extraordinary standing ovation.

  ‘Cara.’ An arm snaked round her waist and she saw the frown on Roberto’s face reflected in the mirror. ‘I woke and you weren’t there.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I left you to sleep.’

  He turned her round. ‘Don’t ever leave me without telling me where you’re going. I want to know everything you do, everything you think.’

  ‘Everything?’ she teased.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, at this moment I am thinking I would like you to leave the bathroom so I can use it in private.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Roberto began to retreat. ‘Don’t be too long.’

  ‘I won’t, and please order some breakfast. I’m starving.’

  ‘Never did I see a woman who eats so much!’ he laughed as the bathroom door closed. He crossed the sitting room, telephoned room service and ordered a full English breakfast for them both. Then he padded to the door of the suite, opened it and retrieved the pile of newspapers lying outside. He sat on the sofa and flicked through a tabloid.